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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991737">Proposition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magichorse/pseuds/Magichorse'>Magichorse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, Harrow the Ninth Spoilers (Locked Tomb Trilogy), HtN spoilers, cavalier!Harrow, necromancer!Gideon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:32:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magichorse/pseuds/Magichorse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gideon, the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House, is being called away to participate in the Lyctor trials, leaving Harrow Nova a chance to inherit back her old title… if she’ll accept the terms of Gideon’s proposal.</p><p>Harrow the Ninth Spoilers. Set in the AU introduced by Chapter 40 of Harrow the Ninth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Proposition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>H/t to the discord for germinating this idea. May this fic be pleasing in their sight.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The Reverend Daughter wishes to see you,” said Ortus tremulously from the doorway of the training room where Harrow Nova stood <i>en garde</i>, sweating slightly from her exercises. His eyes flicked to the rapier in her hand every few seconds as if she might turn it on him, which was, in fact, quite likely as of late. Ever since the invitation from the King Undying had come for the Reverend Daughter and cavalier primary to travel to Canaan House, her ambushes had taken on a pitiless regularity. Her window to dispatch him and claim his title was narrowing, and she acted accordingly.</p><p>“What does her Holy Smugness want with me?” said Harrow, lowering and sheathing her blade to Ortus’s obvious relief.</p><p>“I suspect it is…the thing I’ve been telling you…the petition…”</p><p>“Nigenad, your theories are wildly out of sync with reality. We do not, contrary to your belief, live inside some epic fantasy poem. What did she actually say she wanted to talk to me about?”</p><p>“She did not say very much explicitly, but I felt that <i>im</i>plicitly…”</p><p>“I don’t have time for feelings and guessing games,” said Harrow irritably and brushed past him out of the room. He scuttled out of her way like an affrighted hen. “I’ll go see what she wants.”</p><p>“But if it is…<i>that</i>…what will you say to her?”</p><p>“Say to her?” said Harrow back over her shoulder, “I’ll run her straight through for daring to presume such familiarity with me.”</p><p>Harrow made her way to the central stair, and then down and down into the lower reaches of Drearburh, passing the odd doddering skeleton or doddering penitent on her long descent. The weak light that struggled in from the yawning entrance stories above lost its purchase on the levels where the Blessed Family –once hers—kept their residence. Long used to navigating in the gloom, Harrow barely noticed as the dark rose up around her, punctuated only occasionally by the dim electric lights which hung over individual cells.</p><p>Eventually, she found herself outside of the room the adopted Reverend Daughter had commandeered for her studies and rarely, as of late, was seen to leave. The door was slightly ajar, spilling a single line of orange light across the landing.</p><p>Harrow noticed belatedly that her heartbeat had quickened as she neared the door. Ortus’s face and visible discomfort as he delivered the summons came back to her. What if…? No. She shook her head and pushed the door open without announcing herself. She found the Reverend Daughter sitting in her familiar place behind the bone-inlaid writing desk, absorbed in an enormous book, affording Harrow a glimpse of her unguarded face.</p><p>Gideon was a striking figure, her features un-Ninth in every way. She was taller than Harrow, and with golden eyes that the black ovals of her ritual paint made appear almost luminous. Her hair, which Harrow knew to be red, was kept neatly shaved away. She favored clothing which would more usually befit a Reverend Son, consisting of a long and plain black cassock. She managed to look the office in front of the penitents, but in private, to Harrow’s mortification, the Reverend Daughter smiled too easy and laughed too much to do justice to the somber office. It made Harrow die of shame on behalf of her house. Even worse than her levity, she was unfailingly polite to Harrow, which Harrow took for pity, something which made her want to crawl straight out of her skin with rage.</p><p>As was her way, Gideon’s face broke into a smile as soon as she caught sight of Harrow, which clashed obscenely with the ritual paint of the Mouthless Skull. Harrow hated everything about her.</p><p>“You called for me, my lady?” said Harrow stiffly, choking out the honorific.</p><p>“Yes, Harrowhark,” and here Harrow frowned at the use of her full name, which she took as insult from Gideon, “As you know, I am making preparations to leave within the month, and I had a proposition for you.”</p><p>“Yes, <i>my lady</i>?”</p><p>“It’s…well, okay, this is harder than I thought,” fidgeted Gideon, “Are you sure you won’t sit down, take some tea? I’ve just got these ginger biscuits in…”</p><p>“Just get to the point,” said Harrow, reaching the end of her patience rather faster than she’d anticipated, her nerves on end at the word ‘proposition.’</p><p>“I asked you here,” began Gideon, looking mildly embarrassed for a moment before squaring up her shoulders and looking Harrow in the face, “to propose to marry you.”</p><p>Harrow stared at her for one very long moment, searching Gideon’s face for any signs of insincerity. When she came up empty, she snatched her rapier from its scabbard and lunged with a fury. Gideon reacted with a swift gesture and strings of bone shot up from the inlaid design on the desk, tangling with the blade and then rapidly growing around to trap it.</p><p>Another thing Harrow hated about her-- Gideon was a goddamned bone prodigy. Harrow, jolted to a halt, tugged furiously to free the hilt.</p><p>“C’mon, Harrowhark,” said Gideon, only the slightest sheen of sweat on her face from her counterstrike. She gestured again and the blade jerked free just as Harrow gave it a hard pull, leaving the cavalier secondary to stumble backwards with the force of her own momentum.</p><p>Harrow quickly regained her feet, stood up straight, and sheathed her blade with an angry <i>snik</i> of metal.</p><p>“You bring me here to mock me, how else should I answer?”</p><p>“I am deathly serious.”</p><p>“Why, by the Locked Tomb and That Which Lies Buried, would I ever marry <i>you</i>?”</p><p>“Okay, um, ouch?” said Gideon with a pout that was worlds away from befitting of a Black Vestal, “I think I’m pretty desirable, you know. Hottest person on the Ninth, easy.”</p><p>“Everyone else here is over sixty or Ortus!” said Harrow.</p><p>“Sick burn to old people and Ortus,” said Gideon, “But slow down, think about it. I might be about to become a Lyctor--”</p><p>“You? A Lyctor?! The Necrolord Prime would discharge you from service after 24 hours, you’d annoy the King Undying to death otherwise.”</p><p>“You’re in fine form today,” said Gideon, shaking her head, though she seemed more amused than anything, “Let me finish, will you?”</p><p>Harrow crossed her arms and fixed Gideon with a glare, but she waited.</p><p>“I’m about to leave to become a Lyctor or die trying, presumably. If you marry me, you’ll either be here ruling the roost while your famous wife fights crime and brings glory to the House– pretty cool—or I’ll bite it at Canaan House and you’ll inherit your house back straightaway. How’s that for a deal?”</p><p>Harrow stopped and actually thought about it. It was not, surprisingly, a ludicrous deal for her. In fact, it was close to generous, minus the having-to-be-married-to-the-person-who-was-adopted-to-replace-her part.</p><p>“But…but why?”</p><p>“Well, if you think about it, I’d get you to kiss me at LEAST once at the altar as we took our vows.”</p><p>
Harrow’s face darkened again, “You perverted nun!” she snarled indignantly, and was about to tell Gideon how she had better keep dreaming about kissing her because that was all it would ever be, when Gideon interrupted her.</p><p>“<i>Think</i> about it, Harrowhark,” said Gideon, tone dropping to something that might have been urgency. “Once I leave, I am <i>never</i> coming back here. You have realized that, haven’t you?”</p><p>“Well,” said Harrow primly, “If you go into the Lyctor trials with that attitude, and with Ortus as your cavalier primary, no, you certainly won’t.”</p><p>“Harrow,” said Gideon in that same urgent tone, “Even if I live, even if I attain Lyctorhood, I am never coming back here. I’ve been reading the annals—every news article, every biography of every saint. I can’t find a single instance of them coming home, not for a funeral, or a wedding, or a visit to mum. Not one instance.”</p><p>Harrow had not read much about God’s Hands and Gestures, the Necrosaints. It didn’t interest her. Swords interested her.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s so commonplace they never bother to write about it,” said Harrow with a shrug, “Doesn’t make for very riveting front page material. No guts, no glory, no drama.”</p><p>“Harrow,” said Gideon again, so softly that the cavalier was obliged to still and focus to hear her, “Whether you accept it as fact or not, I am not coming home again. Someone needs to look after this place when I’m gone, and I’m convinced no one will do a better job than you. No matter what this place has done to you, you love it fiercely. It’s my adopted home, but I love it now as much as you, though I can see you deny that. No matter. It’s still my duty to ensure the house is preserved. I’m going soon, and if when I leave you are the Reverend Daughter once more, by marriage, you will inherit this place and you, alone, will be in charge of it.”</p><p>Harrow turned her back on Gideon abruptly.</p><p>The thought of ruling the Ninth House was a dream she had spent years of her life choking out of existence. It was pathetic. She had been disinherited, she had no right to dream. And so, she should have jumped at the chance, practically for free (one kiss at the altar, she could probably do that), to regain her house. But it was that word: alone. She would rule it alone. No Ortus sighing gloomy poetry in the hallways, Crux and Aiglamene fading away, her parents cold and distant as the Ninth itself, and Gideon…her heart clenched in a way she had not expected. She took a deep breath, schooled her expression, and turned back around.</p><p>“My lady, where is the honor in that inheritance? I say again, you mock me. Have I not proven myself by the sword, by the chain? I would earn my place through the skills I have trained my <i>entire</i> life for. Do not leave me here to be looked upon like some pitiful widow of God’s war. Demote Ortus to cavalier secondary and take me instead.”</p><p>“We’ve been over this before, you’d either have to kill Ortus--”</p><p>“Which I am very willing to do--”</p><p>“I know, I’ve stopped you often enough. That way is out of the question, and the other way is for Mortus to agree to let Ortus to step down, and he won’t, so we’re back to square one.”</p><p>“<i>Mortus</i>!” said Harrow indignantly, “Is <i>Mortus</i> the Reverend Daughter? Is <i>he</i> the Reverend Father or Mother? Since when does the Ninth House set policy by its retired servants!”</p><p>“It would break with tradition…”</p><p>“<i>Fuck</i> tradition, you’re leaving this house to become a <i>Lyctor</i>, and I’m your best shot at achieving this once-in-a-myriad opportunity and you <i>know</i> it.”</p><p>Gideon looked down and shook her head, as if too angry to look at Harrow. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”</p><p>“Like hell I don’t,” said Harrow, and drew her rapier. Gideon jerked back in her chair, a bead of bone already twisting between her fingers, but Harrow did not move to strike. Instead, she flipped the sword point down and stabbed it into the antique brocade rug, sinking down to one knee behind it.</p><p>“I, Harrow Nova, pledge my sword to the service of Gideon Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House. I pledge my life in defense of your life, and my death into your keeping. One flesh, one end.”</p><p>Gideon reacted as if struck, jumping to her feet and shouting angrily, “You impertinent little twig! You…you can’t offer this to me! You’re not the cavalier primary!”</p><p>Harrow didn’t answer. </p><p>“Alright, you <i>should</i> be cavalier primary, we both know it, I’ve never said otherwise, but you’re behaving like a maniac.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“You’re just going to kneel there until I answer you, aren’t you?”</p><p>Silence again from the dark-eyed, frowning cavalier.</p><p>“If I accept your pledge, you automatically become cavalier primary. You worked that out, didn’t you? Nice homework, I’ll give you that, but Harrow, listen, no cavalier ever came back home, either, and...” Gideon looked stricken, “I don’t know what that means.” </p><p>Harrow held her gaze as fierce as ever, hardly a tremor, though her hands gripped the hilt of her rapier so tightly Gideon could see every tendon.</p><p>Gideon appeared to struggle internally, gritting her teeth, until she sagged back in her chair and said, “Okay, fine. You want to escape this rock and ride into hell with me that badly? One flesh, one end.” And then, as an afterthought, “Loser.”</p><p>Harrow snapped back up to a standing position, eyes alight. “I’ll tell Ortus,” she said with barely contained triumph. “And then I’ll pack.” She turned to leave, eager to be gone, but turned back at the door and said to Gideon “You won’t live to regret it, my lady.” And she was gone from sight, but not before she heard Gideon say to the empty room.</p><p>“But how will I live with myself if <i>you</i> do…”</p>
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